


Bomb in a Birdcage

by rekishi



Category: Royalty RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an effort to make life easier for a visitor, Andrea Casiraghi is unaware of the ripples his well-meaning intentions will cause. Or: The answer to the question why Hereditary Grand Duke Guillaume of Luxembourg wears a beard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bomb in a Birdcage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carmenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/gifts).



> A few questions finally needed answering, so here is a treat to finally provide some explanations.
> 
> Thank you to Ariss for the beta job.
> 
> The title was taken from A Fine Frenzy's Album "Bomb in a Bird Cage" and that same line in the song "What I Wouldn't Do".
> 
> Disclaimer: Not real. Not mine. Not that I'd mind if it was, but no. Never happened.

Andrea Albert Pierre Casiraghi eyed the man sitting across from him warily over the rim of his glass.

He'd been left in charge of Prince Guillaume, as of a little over two years ago also the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg, while his mother and his grandfather entertained Grand Duke Henri and Grand Duchess María Teresa. For some reason, Andrea couldn't shake the thought that he was essentially conducting a partner program here. Unfortunately, there had been no mention of it prior to him being co-opted earlier this morning, so he was woefully unprepared.

Why Guillaume had come along in the first place was a mystery to Andrea; the latest he'd heard was Guillaume was enrolled in Durham and where in his study-plan he made time for such excursions as this he couldn't tell. Andrea's own studies had only allowed for visit a to Monaco because of a few days of break between two lectures series.

Now Andrea was sitting on one of the balconies in the private wings of the Prince's Palace overlooking the marina from afar, being scowled at by the heir to Luxembourg. They'd only met twice before, always with parental supervision and as extras, though, Andrea could not remember a personal word spoken between them. This would be easier if he'd been charged with entertaining Prince Carl Philip of Sweden, at least he could be amused endlessly with Grandfather's car collection. Andrea had a feeling cars did nothing at all for the man across from him now.

"How are your studies going?" he asked eventually, to break the silence as much as anything else. If Guillaume complained later to his parents about how unfriendly Andrea had been, he'd never hear the end of it from his mother.

The scowl disappeared and was replaced by a carefully neutral expression and a shrug. "Fine. Yourself?"

Loquacious today, Andrea thought and was hard pressed not to roll his eyes. "The lecture series on colour composition was very interesting. The introduction seminar on relations among the Balkan states less so, although I blame that on my classmates, they kept their presentations very basic." At least they studied related subjects, although Guillaume was a year ahead of him and Andrea was not fully committed to the the international politics course, yet, even though his mother kept insisting on it. Considering as of last year he was third in line to the Monegasque throne, maybe she had a point, even though it seemed unlikely he'd ever have more than a theoretical chance at it. Surely, his uncle would marry in the next few years and have a children of his own, so Andrea wouldn't have to step up.

"Well, that's what introduction seminars are all about, aren't they? Basics, that is," Guillaume said presently and there even was a small smile on his face as he took up his glass and sipped at the lemonade. Lemonade. They were both adults and the kitchens had sent lemonade. But Andrea heaved an inward sigh of relief at this gesture of playing along, maybe not all hope was lost yet.

"But that all is not well in former Yugoslavia is a bit very basic," Andrea answered with a grin and watched as Guillaume raised a dismissive eyebrow. "I'm not saying it was a waste of time but when I spend three days on preparing a topic with actual data and proper research, I don't want so sit through presentations put together in less than three hours."

Guillaume nodded his understanding and let his gaze travel out over the balcony's railing.

"Do you want to take a walk?" Andrea asked. "Or see the rest of the palace? I'm sure no one will wonder where we are."

"You seem carefree enough," Guillaume answered, eyes back on him, then shrugged and pushed up from the chair. "But I wouldn't mind seeing some more of the place."

"I don't recall anything happening to anyone ever, in Monaco. There are more interesting people to molest, if that's anyone's intention. Looking how everyone's after Aunt Stéphanie these days, we're falling by the wayside, some anyway. And I don't think anyone expects you here."

"Not like anyone would recognise me," Guillaume murmured almost too quiet to overhear as Andrea led him inside again and they entered the seemingly endless hallways of the palace. It was hard to suppress a smile and even harder not to reach out and pat Guillaume on the cheek in that moment. Luxembourg's Hereditary Grand Duke had a babyface and was generally considered younger than he really was, much to his own discontent it seemed.

"Surely it's not that bad," Andrea said reasonably and walked around a corner. It was easy to get lost in a place like the Prince's Palace, with it's multitude if building styles and additions and demolitions over time. If one wasn't careful it was all too easy to get turned around and suddenly be faced with a dead end. "There's only one reigning grand duchy left in all of Europe, after all, doesn't that make you somewhat special, Your Royal Highness?"

Guillaume frowned when he heard the title but didn't comment on it, only stepped a little closer, probably not to get lost. "You'd be surprised. I bet more people recognise you when you leave Monaco's borders than me when I leave Luxembourg's. It helps with the tabloids in Britain, although I guess their own princes are more interesting to them anyway."

Andrea agreed with a nod as they arrived in the courtyard, but dropped the topic in favour of what Guillaume might consider actual entertainment. "So where do you want to start? We could have a look at the former stables and stable yard and work our way up."

It was a pity they had to go to France for riding these days, but with the traffic and the space restrictions it was not possible to keep horses in Monaco any longer and hadn't been for a few decades.

His guest wrinkled his nose just the tiniest bit and Andrea took that as the man not being partial to horses. Odd, for royalty. "It's your choice," Guillaume finally amended. "This is your home. Tell me about this place."

Preferably something Guillaume didn't know already, Andrea guessed, but there was only one place to really start. "If you step outside the palace walls, which we won't do right now so you'll just have to take my word for it, you'll see the statue of a man in a cowl. The year is 1297-," he stopped short when he saw the amused look on Guillaume's face. "What?"

"How long do you want to spend showing me the sights?" Guillaume asked lightly and looked around the courtyard. "Seven centuries worth of architectural styles?"

"Well, how far does your family history go back?" Andrea wanted to know and crossed his arms.

"The true origins of the House of Nassau are shrouded in history," Guillaume informed him with exaggerated royal haughtiness, "so the founding date is pinpointed by annals from 1093. When I have to tell family history though, I usually start with great-great-great-grandfather Adolphe."

Andrea's head swirled counting generations, but he didn't quite manage so he just shrugged. "Which would be when?"

"Not much for history of the royal houses, are you?"

Andrea spread his hands before him, showing a lack of rings and other accoutrements of office. "This might be my ancestral home, Guillaume, but I don't hold any titles. Nor will I, ever. We're a princely house, with legitimacy issues and barely even considered above roaches where the real royals are concerned. What would be the point? Dynastic quarrelling is beyond me."

His companion regarded him for a moment, searching for something that Andrea couldn't name, before he nodded. "Fair point. Although don't be so sure about your titles, all it takes is your uncle remaining childless. Be that as it may, Luxembourg's split from the Netherlands was taught to you, wasn't it?"

Andrea didn't like the patronising tone, but ignored it. After all, they were speaking of Guillaume's heritage and he probably was entitled to some arrogance there. A complete lack of it would have been more worrisome. "1890," he answered, dates like that drilled into his brain by well-meaning teachers.

"Because the grand duchy didn't allow for cognatic succession at the time, unlike the Netherlands. If not for that, Willem-Alexander might be here in my stead now," Guillaume said with a nod as they made their way inside again. "So tell me about that clock tower."

~~~

"I have to say," Guillaume remarked later that day as they stood on the terrace overseeing the glittering streets of Monaco, "for such a small country, you do play some good football."

Andrea smiled and dragged on his cigarette. One of the surprising revelations of the day had been the fact that Guillaume smoked, something Andrea never would have expected. That little discovery had been after the football match his mother had shooed them to earlier, when she'd discovered them still touring the palace. They hadn't found much more to talk about, so Andrea had tried to summon up the vestiges of knowledge that he supposedly held from following his grandfather around at every step on their visits to Monaco when he was younger. That had had actually worked pretty well and they had even discussed some of the finer points of family history; Guillaume's ancestors were no less enigmatic - to use a kind word - than Andrea's own, it seemed. Too much Habsburg blood, he suspected.

They had missed the formal dinner due to the match, and he doubted anyone had given it more than passing thought. Still, they had been hungry upon their return, so Andrea had used his charm on the kitchen staff and waited for them to put something together for the two of them. The palace kitchen was the best place for gossip, he and his siblings had found that out years ago, and unlike the more visible staff, they seemed to have an opinion on everything going on in Monaco. It was a refreshing change from the cowering courtiers that lined the throne room when his grandfather sat his in seat of office.

While he waited and listened to the banter going on around him he'd leafed through one of the French gossip rags that tended to show up in the staff areas occasionally. A picture had caught his eye on one page and it seemed Guillaume wasn't quite as free from foreign tabloids as he seemed to think or hope. More peculiar than that fact, though, was the caption attached to the image. Not that Andrea particularly cared, but it was easy to determine Guillaume swung a certain way and that the alleged girlfriend did not fit the picture.

Blond, blue-eyed, pretty if you liked them skinny and superficial, and definitely not who he'd pegged Guillaume with, however brief their acquaintance.

Then again, it wasn't his place to judge if Guillaume wanted to keep up appearances. Maybe a gentle admonition to keep it believable could be managed, though.

Guillaume stubbed out the butt of his cigarette and leaned his forearms on the railing, surveying the street lights lining out the narrow and confusing web of traffic in the principality. Andrea watched him from his peripheral vision. Considering they didn't see eye to eye where duty was concerned, for obvious reasons, they had spent a quite pleasant day with each other. Maybe they would meet again, when the Grand Duke and Duchess came back for a repeat visit.

A mobile rang into the quiet and Andrea went fishing for the device in his pocket. After a glance at the display, he looked up. "Do you mind?" he asked, but Guillaume just waved away his concerns.

It was quicker taken care of than he'd thought; Tatiana wanting to know if he was in town and up for a drink or a club, but as he was in Monaco she'd have to make do with Charlotte. Those two were better friends than he and her anyway, and Charlotte would be happy to spend a night away from Fountainbleau.

"Girlfriend?" Guillaume asked from his spot at the broad banister.

Andrea snorted and walked to him, levering himself up to sit on the balustrade, legs dangling. "No, just a friend from Paris. She studies in London, but hops back and forth across the channel pretty regularly, Charlotte and I know her from when she still went to boarding school there. She's been around pretty regularly then, her family not being in France and all."

Nodding, Guillaume shifted positions so they could look at each other more easily while talking, the football scarf Andrea had decked out with catching between his body and the stone so he had to fumble to pull it clear. "Just sounded like you went out regularly."

"We do. Charlotte isn't eighteen yet, she's only allowed occasionally."

His guest nodded again. "So I'm not keeping you from a night of drunken debauchery?"

Raising both eyebrows, Andrea wondered what kind of reputation he might have with the upper echelons. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?" There only was a twinkling in Guillaume's eyes, but he neither commented nor twitched even one muscle in his face. Damn proper royals. "No girlfriend." Not since his mother had effectively put a stop to him seeing Maria again a couple of weeks ago at least, who was a fluky too, but at least he'd known about that.

"I see," Guillaume finally said and turned back to the city.

"You on the other hand..." Andrea trailed off suggestively, letting the grin into his voice and waggled his eyebrows when the exalted future Grand Duke to Luxembourg deigned to look at him again. "I saw the picture."

"Which picture?"

"You and your girlfriend? The blond?" he explained where no explanation should have been necessary. "She _is_ your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"Of course she is," Guillaume answered, but not with quite as much conviction as the situation called for. Andrea frowned. Was the man this thick-skulled or was he just good at pretending?

"Guillaume, have you ever heard of a beard?" he used the English word in lieu of a truly good approximation in French.

Frowning, Guillaume touched his face. "I've thought about it, do you think it would make me look older?"

Oh please, no. It was hard not to burst out laughing and he couldn't quite keep the laughter from his voice when Andrea leaned forward and rested a hand lightly on Guillaume's shoulder to make him look him in the eye. "Yes, it would. But, Guillaume, I meant... You know. A pseudo-girlfriend. Lavender marriages? Although I hope you won't go quite as far with the fluky."

Guillaume at first only stiffened under his touch and stared wildly at him, until he seemed to regain his composure and shrugged Andrea's hand off. He let it fall from the other man's shoulder to prevent aggravation. "What makes you think something like that?" Guillaume voice sounded hard and cold.

Andrea frowned and slid off the railing, just in case this discussion led to a physical confrontation. He didn't think it would, not with someone as well bred and groomed as Guillaume with his impeccable manners, but he also didn't fancy tumbling fifteen meters down to end as a bloody, greasy little spot on the white pebbles. "Look, it's no big deal. Whatever rolls your socks down, man, I don't really care. All I meant to say is if that's the path you've chosen to tread, at least make it believable."

Guillaume stepped back and put some distance between them. Andrea couldn't quite see his eyes, but he imaged the look in them was not one of kindness, right now. The man was either deep in denial or scared shitless, he couldn't tell.

"What do you mean?" Guillaume sounded hard and forbidding, but Andrea didn't see the benefit at giving in anymore, the implication was out there and neither of them would be helped of they kept it in this unresolved state of enmity.

"It's clear, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"What I'm saying is," Andrea started but didn't want to yell in case they were overheard. Staff was continually nosy and he had no reason to want Guillaume harm, so he took a few quick steps to the other man's side and clamped a hand on his arm, pulling him towards him despite the resistance. "What I'm saying is," he repeated in a whispered hiss and directly into the man's ear, moist, agitated breath pushing against his neck in a surprised gasp, "that you're gay. Which is totally fine as far as I'm concerned, but I realise you might get into trouble over it. But if you go and get yourself female company for pretend, do it so people will believe it. For now it works because you're young, in another two or three years, it'll make them worry and in ten you'll have the thinly veiled criticism of your people to face. A fluky who's after your money and your title is no solution."

He would have released Guillaume then, had the man not pushed him roughly away from him, fury rolling off of him in waves. Andrea watched as he visibly tried to pull himself together, regain composure. To no avail, it seemed. "You ave no idea," he finally pressed out before he turned on his heel and stormed first into the room beyond them, then out of the suit proper.

Andrea just hoped he wouldn't lose his way and wander the endless, disused corridors until the end of time.

~~~

The next morning, Andrea slowly made his way to the suit assigned to Guillaume.

After last night, he didn't really have any reason to. He doubted that the man would complain about Andrea, if just out of fright his secret might be revealed. That Andrea had no incentive to do so was another matter, but in his agitated state, Guillaume might not have understood that much. One more reason to try and make amends.

On the other hand, Andrea didn't know why he cared. What concern was it to him if the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg got himself a beard? It wasn't like anything could come of it; he'd had a look into the library last night, his grandfather was a collector not only of cars but had surprisingly detailed annals on the royal houses. And according to those records, royal wives of Nassau required a certain background, if Andrea had understood the wording correctly, even with the updated version. Interestingly, those records had also yielded a detail regarding Guillaume's titles that was somewhat peculiar in a dynastic sort of way, but Andrea had been too tired, and was too poorly versed in the fine lines the truly royal houses drew, to make much of it.

Interesting nonetheless.

Then there also was the fact that he had his doubts the Grand Duke and his wife were completely convinced of the veracity of their son's relationship. Andrea had snatched the gossip rag from the kitchen and read the article attached to the shot, and the genesis of that relationship read like from a manual of how to veil your true leanings. Not bad, if the girl hadn't been a dead give away.

Still, it wasn't like Andrea inherently disliked Guillaume; in fact, under different circumstances they might have become downright friendly with each other, even if the man was a little too proper for comfort. It couldn't be easy to be barely twenty and live with the knowledge of being first in line to inherit a country such as Luxembourg. After all, along with Monaco itself and Liechtenstein, Luxembourg was the only place in Europe where the sovereign still ruled in more than just name. And while Grand Duke Henri was young and strong, outside forces just needed to converge and with a little bad luck, Guillaume might end up on the throne sooner than he wanted.

While Andrea wasn't in a position to understand that particular position - his uncle, after all, seemed absolutely carefree about his future as Prince of Monaco - he did understand about being scared. And that must be what it came down to, he mused as he raised a hand to knock at the door.

To his surprise, the door was neither locked nor was it completely shut and a soft draught of air could be felt from it standing ajar.

"Guillaume?" he called, loud enough that it should have been heard in all the rooms. When no answer was forthcoming, he pushed the door open a little more and tried again, "Guillaume?"

After several more calls he found the object of his search in the bathroom. Andrea could see in the mirror that Guillaume's white dress shirt was unbuttoned, and the man just stood there and looked at himself, it seemed. Carefully, Andrea took one more step into the room. "Guillaume?" he asked again, much more quiet than before, but didn't dare to reach out a hand.

A strained silence settled over the room for several seconds, then the man in question turned around and regarded him flatly. "Did no one ever teach you to knock?"

"I knocked. Or tried to, anyway. You didn't answer."

"And have you considered that a person who doesn't answer a knock, much less a call, might not want to be disturbed?" Guillaume said in the same toneless voice and by now it was enough for Andrea to want to beat a strategic retreat.

But he also knew if he didn't clear this up now the opportunity would be lost and there was no way of knowing when the next one would present itself. "After last night, I-"

"You and your meddling ways," Guillaume interrupted him with a dangerously quiet voice and an expression that was so carefully royally blank that it made Andrea take a step back, belatedly remembering that Guillaume was not only trained at firearms, but that the ceremonial uniform he had arrived in included a sabre. "You know, Monsieur Casiraghi, this just might be the reason why the proper royals don't see eye to eye with you. Not a title in sight, no responsibilities beyond your own life and well-being and more concerned with appearance than substance."

He took a step forward and the shirt fell open even more. Andrea stepped out of the bathroom proper, moving backwards. It was the self-assured, deadly calm together with Guillaume's carefully neutral mask that worried Andrea most, and kept him moving steadily backwards. Guillaume came after him, the tone of his voice hadn't changed one bit, "You have no concept of the position I am in, nor of which means I deem appropriate to ensure it all goes as planned." By now, Andrea had reached the doors to the suit and stepped back into the hallway, Guillaume never more than two steps away from him, although in this moment, he stopped and put a hand on the door latch. "Good day, Monsieur."

The door closed with quiet, deafening finality.

~~~

Andrea's mother wasn't happy that he hadn't come and said goodbye to their guests, but since the Hereditary Grand Duke had mentioned he'd felt well entertained, she let him off the hook eventually.

Guillaume had brought down the full weight of 910 years of royal dynastic arrogance upon him and in this moment, Andrea could feel every single one of them.

He wasn't as dumb or naive as Guillaume seemed to think.

It was true, by rules of matchmaking and suitability the Grimaldis were the odd ones out in the noble circles. Sovereigns of a principality, never with the chance to marry up - unlike Guillaume's family, who'd profited from circumstances and snatched themselves a royal style and not let go of it again even when they were kicked to the curb. The Rock had never yielded much in terms of territory or wealth, that had only come much later, with his grandfather's reign and an unequal marriage that was snubbed by the high nobility of the continent.

Royals didn't come to Monaco. The Swedes showed up occasionally, probably for the cars and because they remembered they hadn't always been royals, either. Crown Princess Victoria and Uncle Albert got along quite well, but more on a level of one heir to the other, even if his uncle didn't quite see it like that. As for the Luxembourgians, this had been the second visit since Grand Duke Henri had assumed his office, and he'd been in the principality once or twice when he still was only the heir, but the old Grand Duke had never bothered with the lowly likes of the Princes on the Rock.

And that was it. No Queen of Denmark, no King of Spain, not even the lowland cousins of the Nassaus.

And though it didn't concern Andrea directly, because he was not the heir to the principality and would not have to navigate his way around peer-disapproval, he felt inadequate and ominously shot down.

~~~

Several weeks later, Charlotte dragged him away from his laptop to a little café in one of the quieter side streets of Paris. Tatiana waved them to a table she had already occupied.

"They're still saying I'm with Hubertus," Charlotte said after their orders had been delivered and she was slowly stirring sugar into her cappuccino from the side to not destroy the milk foam. She was frowning down at a page in one of the gossip rags she had picked up. Andrea still was of the opinion that they really shouldn't support sales by buying, but had to admit that it was easier to know what they were allegedly doing than possibly run into rumours blind and deaf.

"Get a boyfriend," Tatiana advised and took a careful sip from her espresso. "They'll all be more exited about that and forget there ever was a Hubertus."

"I'm not convinced," his sister said absently. "And you're one to talk. You're never once mentioned, even when they see you with us."

But their friend just waved off. "I only have money. Plenty of people in France and England have money. But France has no nobility left, so you're it. And the Brits have their own princes and as long as Pince Harry gets up to mischief, no one would know me from Adam."

"I do hope they would know you from _Adam_ at least," Andrea interjected grinning and was consequently kicked into the shin. "Ouch."

"Well deserved," Tatiana huffed and took the magazine to see who else had been picked up in the issue. "Oh look there, if it isn't Guillaume. Broke up with his girlfriend... No surprise there, if you ask me, he never had a way with the ladies."

At the mention of Guillaume Andrea almost choked and forcefully dragged the tabloid from her fingers, almost tearing the paper in the process. "Oh the little..."

Both women looked at his sudden outburst with raised eyebrows. "I didn't even know you knew him," Charlotte ventured.

"Mama had me entertain him the other week," he answered, scowling when he remembered how Guillaume had reacted to his friendly advice and still looking at the pictures until the rest of what Tatiana had said sunk in and he looked up at her. "You know him?"

"Sure, we went to school together for a bit," she explained, still sounding surprised. "In Switzerland. He's... Let's say the fact that the paper says this relationship lasted a year is somewhat surprising."

But Andrea already wasn't listening anymore, although Charlotte quietly asked for details. He was staring off into the street. "The sneaky little bastard," he whispered.

"Guillaume? That's not necessarily a description I'd sign and seal without protest," Tatiana said frowning and reached out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He tried to summon a smile that she mirrored only reluctantly. "And he is, believe me. Idiot."

~~~

Their encounter of that time should, of course, not remain the only one.

Andrea hadn't seen Guillaume for almost two years when Prince Rainier died. With the funeral preparations and his own mourning, he had other things on his mind. Consequently it was a surprise when he looked at of yet another person to pay their condolences and saw himself faced with the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg, who must have accompanied his parents once more.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather," Guillaume murmured quietly when they shook hands. "He was a good Prince."

"Thank you," Andrea said and with a final nod, Guillaume departed. Andrea didn't have the headspace to think about it then, and he refused to revisit the day too often. Funerals being what they were, Andrea believed those particular condolences to be honest, but he also didn't think it was anything more.

Their next meeting was at his uncle's second investiture which Guillaume attended without his parents. While the Hereditary Grand Duke would be seated with Crown Princess Victoria - as the two highest royal delegates - during mass and the opera performance, Andrea was charged with keeping him company during the afternoon football game.

Uncle Albert seemed only semi-interested in his royal guest, which had started to annoy Andrea to no end. Guillaume, and Victoria for that matter, were the guests with the highest profile, and to simply ignore them when his uncle didn't have any other supporters yet was a grave mistake. But Andrea was, he had to admit to himself, not the ideal solution as companion, either. And Pierre to his right couldn't care less who sat with them in the VIP lounge. His brother, too, felt that this kind of celebration was misplaced. After all, indirectly this was rejoicing in Grandfather's death and Andrea knew that neither of them were able to do that.

Guillaume, sitting on his left, was leafing through the program with semi-interest. "Andrea," he said quietly, leaning in slightly so they couldn't be overheard. "I'm not sure you want to hear it, but this is not impressive."

For a moment, he was at a loss for words, then Andrea smiled grimly and nodded sharply. "Brilliant observation," he drawled and Pierre shot him a questioning look from his other side. Tatiana had warned him, no matter how obtuse Guillaume got, Andrea was never to forget there was a sharp mind behind that. He wished she could be there.

"I'm not saying I'm not enjoying this, for what it's worth," Guillaume said, with a genuine smile on his face, and raised the red and white scarf draped around his neck, "but I'm also not the one who has to deal with this the next few decades."

For a moment, Andrea's gaze was caught by the white tassels attached to Guillaume's scarf. When he had his siblings had been younger, and they each had gotten their own football scarf when they were finally allowed to go and attend the games, their mother had put a knot in one of the tassels, each scarf had another one altered, so they would recognise their own each time and there'd be no arguments. Andrea had, out of habit, done the same for Alexandra at her first game. And, even prior to that, to Guillaume's two years ago.

The knot was still there today.

His gaze slid up to Guillaume's face again, but the cordial mask he assumed whenever he was faced with Andrea was back. "I know. But do I have a choice?"

"No," his counterpart answered with an air of finality. "I guess not."


End file.
